The all-caps and excessive exclamation marks usually mean that I am actually shaking a fist at the sky while I shout the name “STELLAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

But we will get to her. There are other sartorial tragedies to be examined first.

The other night, there was a big private viewing of “Valentino: Master of Couture” in London, so loads of people turned up wearing Valentino to see Valentino’s other (mostly) amazing works.

I love Valentino, but Valentino was at his best when he was making big, glorious, redder than red gowns. I think of Valentino, and I do not want to think of SJP’s “Little House on the Prairie” ensemble from this year’s Met Gala. I want to think of royal weddings, of a blazing couture finale in a sea of Valentino Red in 2008, of the epitome of Couture glamour, not of Stella McCartney showing up in a giant jumpsuit with elastic ankles.

It is one thing to have a huge, delicious ass. I have that. I feel no shame in admitting on the internet that for a white girl, I have a disproportionate large bottom. It makes pants shopping a nightmare, but that is an unfortunate part of being a girl anyway.

Ever since I was about thirteen and became aware of my ass, I’ve also been aware of how it looks in pants/skirts/dresses. Everything must pass certain rigorous standards before I walk out of the store with it. My personal standards include:

-Can I bend over without mooning/flashing the world?

-Can I go up a flight of stairs without mooning the world?

-How much movement do I actually have? Could I fight someone if I had to?

And most importantly,

-Does my ass have its own postal code in this dress/skirt/pair of pants?

If yes to the last, the outfit in question immediately gets put back, and I walk out unsatisfied, but less possessing of unflattering clothes.

Why do I blog so much about this crazy woman, you may ask. Why spend so much time hurling so much haterade in the direction of a woman who 1) probably will never read this, and 2) wouldn’t care because she’s too busy wiping her bottom with her stacks of cash and her awards from the fashion industry?

But the answer lies there, in the second one. This is a woman who gets critically lauded and gets all kinds of accolades thrown her way, all while wearing an outfit that looks like a Japanese sleeping bag–with legs!

Whenever I run out of inspiration, which is occasionally, given how frequently and at what length I am cranky about fashion, I’m reminded that all I really need do is head over to Vogue.com to see what sort of incomprehensible version of the word “best” they’re using to describe their best dressed of the week.

This week’s involves Stella McCartney, which is really all that needs said.

In doing a little bit of research, which I would normally snub in favor of my complete disgust toward whatever a Justin Bieber is, I discovered that she (he?) was given a Diamond Jubilee Medal. He chose to receive it while wearing half done overalls.

For reference, when the Queen gave Kate Winslet a CBE, she wore an Alexander McQueen suit (see: Friday’s post) and looked amazing except for the dead bird on her face.